Star Wars: Imperial Prostitute Ch. 01

"Run along now, Seventy-Three," Captain Garowyn grinned, slapping her butt. "It's been great getting to know you."

The blonde, who was still catching her breath from the lengthy kiss, gave her a look of obedience and arousal. Then she turned and walked down the corridor, where the grinning crew of the transport were waiting to load her up with the last of the cargo, and to play with her in anticipation of her first proper duty shift.

Seventy-Two smiled to herself at the sight. She envied the fun that Seventy-Three would have on the slow journey back to Bastion, but if that was how every ProCorps trooper left the Zeta Garrison, she hoped she was going to enjoy this assignment.

But she kept those thoughts to herself. She just stood at attention, naked in front of her new commanding officer. Only the moist smell of her pussy betrayed how horny she felt.

"Good, Private," Captain Garowyn said, nodding in approval. "Ready to go?"

"Yes Captain," she answered back with an eager smile.

"This way, then," Garowyn said, then turned, and led her across the airlock tube her own ship. Seventy-Two followed dutifully.

"Walk forward and place your crotch against the ID scanner," Garowyn instructed. "The Shadow Chaser is my favorite plaything, and now your duty is to please me as well, so you might as well get to know each other."

Seventy-Two obeyed, standing on tip-toes to raise her pussy to the height of the computer scanner, twitching with excitement as she felt the sensor pulses probe her snatch to scan the ID chip embedded there. She also knew that Garowyn was eyeing her butt with great pleasure as she stood behind her, while the personal shuttle's hatch opened.

She suspected that Garowyn would be the first partner to take her at the garrison. She might even put the Shadow Chaser on autopilot and fuck her on the way there.

She was surprised, however, to find the cargo area of the shuttle much smaller than she'd expected from her knowledge of the design. About two-thirds of the main hold had been converted into a small gym.

"I like to work out, and I know that ProCorps troopers are trained to work out a lot, too," Garowyn said, putting a hand on the small of Seventy-Two's back, and leading her forward to the flight-deck hatch. "Now, at the front, we have the bridge—you're still flight-rated, right?"

"My ProCorps training means I'm incapable of combat," Seventy-Two answered. "But I am a qualified ferry pilot, Captain."

"Good. You'll be doing duty as my personal pilot. That means I get you to myself more often, and you learn quicker to obey me."

"Yes, Captain."

"Now, the Shadow Chaser is special. She isn't quite like any other ship. So I probably have to train you on how to treat her right."

Seventy-Two's pussy throbbed in helpless arousal. "Yes, Captain," she agreed quickly, bowing her head to hide the blush.

On her service record, Seventy-Two already had several hundred flight hours logged aboard this very ship, but that was from before the Academy. As shocking as it seemed now, her best friend had stolen the ship and then given it to her as a plaything; and Seventy-Two herself—or rather, the bad girl she was then—had done her very best to murder Garowyn when she came to claim her stolen property.

She felt shame, humiliation, and unending gratitude to the Empire for her training.

Seventy-Two was especially grateful that Garowyn was ignoring her past, and treating her simply as the loyal, unnamed ProCorps trooper she'd become.

That was how she was meant to be treated—how she liked it. That was why the Empire had trained her this way, rather than letting her make the mistake of becoming a TIE pilot.

Garowyn smirked. "Good. Now, astern, we have the bunk room," she said, leading Seventy-Two back through the hold and down the passage into the rear of the hull. "This one's mine, that one down there will be yours. Your uniform is waiting there. Communal shower, as you can see. Aft, we have the engine room, but you don't need to see that, do you?"

"No, Captain."

Garowyn chuckled. "Do you just agree automatically with everything I say?"

Seventy-Two frowned slightly. "I guess, Captain."

"You're a credit to your training, slut." Garowyn seemed pleased, and that made Seventy-Two happy. Garowyn tweaked her nipple, and took the leash off the front of her collar. "Time for you to show me what you can do in the gym now, slut."

"Yes, Captain."

Seventy-Two followed her back into behind the hold, where she pulled on a tight stretch leotard, and a pair of jogging shoes, all under the Captain's watchful gaze.

"Now, show me what you've got. If I leave before you're finished, complete your exercises, then wash, and get dressed, and join me on the flight deck."

"Yes, Captain," Seventy-Two grinned.

She threw herself into her usual routine. She started with a twenty-minute uphill run on the treadmill, followed by five minutes of intensive weight work, and then fifteen minutes on the exercise swoop. Then came half an hour of aerobics and ballet training.

When she had finished, she was covered with sweat, and her skin-tight leotard was as wet as her pussy after a day on duty, revealing every detail of her body from her hard, aroused nipples to the slit between her legs.

Garowyn had left while she was doing her warm-down stretches, and Seventy-Two obediently walked back through to the bunk area again on her own. Stripping off completely, she stepped into the shower, and began to wash.

As she showered, she considered the process that had made her into an Imperial ProCorps trooper. It wasn't something she thought about much, but the Captain and the Sergeant's comments had reminded her. As she leaned against the wall and used the sponge as an excuse to play a little with her clit, she relived the memories. She had once been someone else; a Jedi Knight, fighter pilot, and near to a complete breakdown after the manipulation and abuse of her life in Rebel territory. But the training she had received at the Imperial Academy had transformed her.

She was much happier now.

After just a couple weeks of training, she had applied to transfer to the Prostitution Corps. There she discovered her true nature, learning to embrace her sexuality and submissive tendencies. She quickly forgot about her stupid plan to become a TIE fighter pilot, and let the ProCorps Academy turn her into the person she should have always been. As a freshly graduated ProCorps trooper, she had still expected to be assigned to Commander Fel, the High Moff. He had been her lover before the Academy, and she had half-thought that the entire process had been designed to bring them closer together.

Instead, she had been assigned to a series of ordinary military units, to provide sexual services for common soldiers. Zeta Garrison, one of the furthest outposts of the Empire, was her third tour of duty, a year-long mission after a series of shorter assignments.

In the ProCorps Academy, she had given herself mind and body to the Empire. Her first assignment had been to a Star Destroyer, then to a small, remote TIE fighter base. Next she found herself spending long, exhausting shifts being fucked by every man in a stormtrooper legion. Through it all she had obeyed without question, just like she had been trained, and of course, she had loved every minute of it.

She knew that, after several years, the best and hardest-working ProCorps soldiers were sometimes rewarded with permanent assignments as toys for senior officers, but while she always tried to do her duty well enough to be considered, that was simply a matter of being a good Imperial.

Seventy-Two had no ambition to be chosen—and even if she was, she felt no particular desire for High Moff Fel, beyond a ProCorps trooper's loyal love for their head of state, and absolute automatic obedience to her Supreme Commander. Yes, she understood that it would be a great honor to serve High Moff Fel directly, but she loved and obeyed every member of the Imperial military now, all the way down to the newest recruit.

Turning her into an ordinary front-line prostitute had been the move that proved the complete success of her re-education. Her willing acceptance of the new orders proved that her discipline and obedience were driven by genuine loyalty to the Galactic Empire, not simply by a desire for sex with Moff Fel.

The most important thing about her new attitude was that, contrary to anything Sergeant Vixer had heard, it hadn't been imposed on her by brainwashing. It came from her own desires. She had just needed a little help from the Empire to get in touch with them.

At the ProCorps Academy, she had learned that what she really loved was serving and obeying the Empire, no matter what—not having a relationship with one man. Unless the Empire assigned her to one specific man, that was.

Or woman, she reminded herself. Her bisexuality was something else the Empire had taught her to accept, something else she loved the Empire for.

She also liked the fact that everything about a ProCorps soldier's life was so well organized. She needed no accommodation of her own. She would have a small sleeping mat that she could unroll, but she doubted she'd need it on many nights.

When she had finished washing, Seventy-Two stepped back out into the bunk area, and dried herself briskly with a towel from the rack. She liked the fact that it bore the Imperial insignia and a batch/item code on one corner, matching the sigil tattoo on her own belly.

After that, she began to get dressed. Someone had put out the specially-adapted uniform of a ProCorps soldier on the bunk.

First came the chastity belt, a thin durasteel yoke that went around her waist and crotch, with a soft plastex inner face. It locked magnetically and was one hundred percent effective in preventing access to her pussy. She was expected to wear it at all times except when someone paid to unlock it, but the shuttle crew had taken it off her, along with everything else except the heavy stun-collar they'd made her wear—not that she was really complaining about that.

She suspected things might be different in her new assignment, but she wasn't complaining about that, either.

For now, it simply felt good to have the first custom-fit item of her uniform back. It simply felt right to have the belt tight around her waist, the smooth curve pressed seamlessly against her damp pussy.

Then, she wrapped the corset of durasteel plates around her body, holding her breath in as it locked in place, ensuring she kept her stomach tight, her waist narrow, and her back parade-ground straight.

After that, she locked on the collar. In contrast to the heavy durasteel restraint she'd won aboard the transport, this one was designed to be worn under her clothes. The main part was a tall choker around her neck, relatively slim and lightweight for concealment inside the neck of her uniform, but at its base there were thicker, heavier gorget sections that sat tight around her shoulders.

Then came the cuffs around her wrists—tight, shiny and less than a centimeter thick, but surprisingly heavy. The left-hand one was inscribed with a chrono window, while the right-hand had a comlink grille. Like the collar, they were standard parts of her new uniform, and to anyone who glimpsed them while she was on duty, they would just seem to be functional and attractive jewelry.

Next, she tugged on her tight jodhpurs with their flared-out hips, and the heavily-constructed uniform jacket, specially tailored for emphasizing the curves of her hips, butt, waist and breasts. The collar of the tunic was a little wide, to accommodate the durasteel shackle underneath, but it hid the choker well enough.

She buckled the leather belt. It locked magnetically and would not open again without an Imperial code. That was followed by the knee-boots with their eighteen-centimeter spiked heels. They tightened once she'd tugged them on. Concealed in the nerfhide were durasteel cuffs shackling her legs at the ankles and just below the knees. Then it was time for the short nerfhide gloves. They stopped just short of her chrono and comlink, and weren't part of her standard-issue uniform, but an addition for her new role as Captain Garowyn's personal pilot. They were probably the only thing she would wear on Zeta that wasn't bondage-gear of some sort.

Finally, she hooked the metal curves of the communications transceivers round behind her ears, slotting the speaker earphones into place. Then she began swaying to the music that drifted slowly into her thoughts, as she plugged her spectacles into place. With the transceivers tucked behind her ears, the slim, straight arms of the frame fit into holes at the front of the metal earpieces, uplinking the glasses directly to the Imperial HoloNet.

An eye-blink later, the lenses came alive with information. She had been trained to read the ultra-small type that flashed across her field of vision. Instantly, she was learning the likes and dislikes of her first several appointments at Zeta Garrison. Captain Garowyn was at the top of the list. There were also the transparent patterns that she had been trained to ignore. She knew both helped her relax and perform her duties better, so she accepted the Empire's help like a good ProCorps trooper. Seventy-Two continued to prepare for duty, swaying slightly to the music all the time.

Last, she pulled on her uniform cap, took a few second to check herself out in the mirror, then walked out. She kept her head held high, the spiked heels giving her extra height and poise. Imperial Prostitute SX-51472 was not fully complete unless she was in her uniform, and now she was completely ready to serve the Empire. . . in whatever way Zeta Garrison's troops needed her.

She was, in all but name, a slave of the Empire now, and she was much happier than she had ever been as Jaina Solo.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ End of Chapter 1 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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